


birds of a feather

by kikuris



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Description of Injuries, Friendship, Gen, octopath family? octopath family!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-07 01:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikuris/pseuds/kikuris
Summary: Betrayal is difficult to accept when you are alone.Being surrounded by those you trust can help ease the pain, if only a little.





	birds of a feather

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone else find it a little teeny tiny bit immersion breaking when big events like this happened in a character's story but all the other characters were just...gone? eg. "You're even more of a fool for coming here alone." (Therion's chapter 3) & Primrose getting stabbed in her chapter 3.
> 
> So, I thought why not try & involve the other characters.
> 
> Thank you for checking this fic out & I hope you enjoy!~

It was strangely warm as it pooled in her hands. It seeped into her clothing; staining the reds a deep maroon, before it ran down the length of her arms and legs to drip onto the marble floor. 

Her head was abuzz with a swarm of noise, and her vision wavered on the figure that towered over her quivering form. She recognised his physical features; braided silver hair, dark eyes, flowing overcoat and other eloquent garb. But the expression was completely foreign to her.

It was blank, emotionless, cold. 

It scared her.

His voice rang directly in her ear, breath ghosting over her cheek. “Oh, I’m sorry. I heard that you were looking around for my friend here.” 

It was wrong. This wasn’t his voice. His voice was warm and soft--a voice that had lulled her into a pleasant sleep countless times.

This voice was empty and frigid to match its piercing words.

Her vision blurred completely, and the voice became distant. “And you know what they say about birds of a feather…”

Her legs trembled beneath her, shoes slipping against the slick of blood that lined the marble and fell into the grooves between. 

She barely registered the congregation of footsteps approaching as her knees, unable to bear the strain any longer, buckled beneath her. The pain she felt from the chips of broken marble digging into her legs was minuscule in comparison to the burning sensation in her abdomen. She was pulled back against a firm warmth that protectively gathered her form up in its arms.

Soon, she was surrounded, and a pressure was pushed upon her open wound. She writhed and shrieked at the pain, kicking her legs out for them to only slip against the blood-stained floor. 

A hand glided through her hair, then a gentle voice spoke. “Shhh, you must calm down. Alfyn is doing what he can but he needs you to stay still, okay?” The voice paused for a moment before slipping into a hushed incantation. The hand in her hair became warm, and that warmth washed over her body, slightly numbing the searing agony. “I’m afraid that’s all I can do to ease the pain.”

She ground her teeth together, allowing her laboured breathing to escape through the small gap between, and forced herself to keep her eyes open and trained on the man staring down at her. His expression gave nothing away.

He moved suddenly as another figure reached his side, their arm outstretched with dagger in hand. His movements were almost like a dance as he dodged the various swipes and jabs.

The laugh he gave was chiding. “Well, well, aren’t you a feisty one.” He was light on his feet, eyes shining with a newfound pleasure.

He received a breathy growl and the rapid slashing of the dagger in response. “Shut up, you bastard.”

A more animalistic growl emitted from beside Primrose before a flurry of white filled her vision. The flurry leapt at the man, furiously swiping with sharpened claws and biting with pointed teeth.

Her head swam and she screwed her eyes shut, pressing a shaky hand against her forehead as if it would single-handedly cure the dizziness. The soft voice was back again, whispering soothing words as the hand carded through her hair.

There was a grunt of pain, followed by the shuffling of feet. When she looked up, the first thing she noticed was the arrow embedded his shoulder. And then, the armed figure seized the opportunity and dashed forward, knife nicking the edge of the scarf that rested around his neck, slicing it clean in two.

Her eyes fell to his neck, and her own throat clamped shut. Her breathing became choked and hurried as she fervently chased off all the sudden implications that plagued her mind.

“The mark...of the crow...But...but why…?” She strained her throat to force the words out, her vision blurring with newfound tears. 

A heavy sigh sounded behind her, and she felt the rumble against her back as a new, deeper voice spoke. “Primrose…” The arms tightened around her form.

Her eyes desperately searched the face of the man staring down at her. “Simeon!”

The silence that followed was more deafening than the increasing rush of blood in her ears.

He stared at her for a few more seconds before closing his eyes and bowing his head. It was a blatant mockery, and Primrose’s heart clutched painfully.

“Do forgive me, Lady Primrose. There was just one thing I forgot to mention.” He opened his eyes to stare directly at her. She flinched at the mirth that filled them. 

“The head of the Obsidians?” 

She shook her head, almost missing the quiet crackle of magic behind her.

“The crow atop the roost?”

She tried to cover her ears with her hands but her muscles were too weak. They fell limp to the ground; helpless.

“And, oh yes, the one who killed your dear, dear father…”

She felt sick to her stomach.

“...It was me.”

She wanted so desperately to scream but her voice only came out as a hoarse whisper. “No...it can’t be…” Her trembling intensified and she instinctively leaned against the warmth at her back, furthering herself from the man in front of her.

The armed figure facing him--Therion, her foggy mind supplied seconds later--gave a sharp click of his tongue before diving forward again. 

Never taking his eyes off Primrose, Simeon reached out with one of his hands and caught Therion around the wrist. The knife grazed his own arm and nicked the skin, but he didn’t react. The smile he gave sent chills down her spine.

His eyes darkened, and all Primrose could manage was a broken shout before he pushed forward and twisted.

Therion’s yell overpowered the dull crack. He stumbled back, dagger clattering to the floor as he grasped at his rapidly swelling wrist.

A collection of gasps echoed, and the hiss of forming magic behind her came to a halt as another figure rushed past her and pulled Therion back, out of Simeon’s reach. 

“Damn it!” Alfyn cursed under his breath. Primrose watched as he frantically looked around before his eyes landed upon his satchel laying open on the ground beside him. He huffed, reaching with his leg to nudge it closer to Cyrus. “Professor, there’s a small container of mint coloured paste in there. Put it on his wrist, it’ll numb it for now.” He then turned his attention to his blood soaked hands and he frowned. “Ophilia, gonna need some more fabric here.”

Primrose lifted her gaze, watching as Therion bit his lip and screwed his visible eye shut against the pain, sweat gathering on his forehead at the effort, while Cyrus applied the viscous paste to the thief’s wrist. A heavy feeling of guilt bubbled in her stomach and she forced herself to look away.

“Oh, this is shaping up to be the perfect tragedy indeed.” Simeon grinned. His gaze bore right through her. “And it’s all thanks to our star. Bravo...Oh, bravo, Lady Primrose.” He swept his arms out wide, voice growing louder with each syllable. “I knew you had it in you. That was a virtuoso performance, my love.”

H’aanit gave a shout and claws rapped against the marble floor as Linde charged forward again, this time accompanied by Tressa, who had her spear poised and ready to strike. 

Simeon sidestepped Linde’s swipes while keeping a wary gaze locked on Tressa, or more specifically, the tip of her spear. Even to the untrained eye, it was evident that this was a dance he had performed many times before--each dodge and weave was executed with precision, each block practised to perfection.

Primrose wondered how she had been so blind to not have noticed it before. But no matter how many memories she dug through and tore apart until they played in frames, she could only find _her_ Simeon--the man who recited his poetry each time she asked with a warm smile; had offered his shoulder upon noticing even the slightest quiver in her form; had told her tales of the flowers that grew within the manor’s garden.

Accepting that what she saw before her was the very same man that she knew seemed impossible. Her head began to ache once again with the strain.

The whistle of a second arrow amplified her pain and she tried to curl in on herself, only to be stopped by a pair of hands and an alarmed voice.

“Hey, hey,” Alfyn said. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to stay still, alright?”

She bit her tongue and nodded, eyes moving to Ophilia. The cleric smiled softly and lifted her hands from where they had been holding Primrose down.

Only when she heard a sharp intake of breath from Simeon did she notice that Linde had caught the underside of his knee. The impact had thrown him off balance enough for Tressa to get a hit in, slicing his shirt and leaving a thin gash on his torso.

The next breath he gave was one of irritation and his words came out as a whisper. “I believe these background performers are beginning to overstay their welcome.” He lifted his gaze, eyes eerily blank. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Primrose?”

All she managed was a choked gasp, but thankfully, Olberic had been as equally quick on the uptake. 

“Tressa, Linde, move back!” The rumble of his voice against her back no longer offered the comfort it once did. “Now!”

Cursing, H’aanit called her companion back, and Tressa immediately heeded the previous warning, only sparing a single glance over her shoulder. “W-What is he going to--” Her words abruptly cut off upon noticing the dark mist swarming the floor and curling around her ankles. “Uh…”

“Ophilia,” Cyrus voice cut in. It was sharp and blunt, momentarily shocking everyone. “You must cast a protective veil over us now or we will all be lost.”

Without any objection, she immediately set about casting the spell. Her words were hushed and her eyes closed in concentration. The only implication of nerves was the tremble in her hands as she clasped them together in prayer.

“Professor?” Tressa muttered, shifting her gaze over to Cyrus. Her question was weighted with a multitude of others, and from the grim expression that overtook him, he knew that too.

“It is a form of dark magic that is no longer practised,” he explained. “In fact, according to my research, the last known use of such magic was over fifty years ago.”

Tressa’s brow furrowed as she eyed Simeon. “Then how--”

“Save the exposition until later,” Therion interrupted. “What do we do to stop it?”

Cyrus’ mouth pressed into a hard line and Primrose felt a shock of cold run through her. “We can’t,” she spoke, her voice was scratchy and her throat ached with each syllable, “can we?”

He didn’t attempt to meet her gaze. “...I’m afraid not.”

“What?” Alfyn asked, bewildered.

“Ophilia’s magic is our only hope of surviving this,” Cyrus explained, his eyes moving to lock on to Simeon. The corners of his mouth pulled down further.

The reflective veil was cast over them a moment later, pushing the mist circling around their feet back. The light, cloudy hue of the veil distorted Simeon’s features to such an extent that Primrose could not longer make out the basic details of his face. It all blurred together as if she was staring through broken glass.

The swirling mist bashed against the barrier once before pulling back and charging again with more force.

Ophilia winced. “It isn’t going to hold for much longer at this rate.”

“I doubt he can continue casting such a taxing spell for much longer either,” Cyrus said. “We’re partaking in a battle of odds.”

“We’re relying on our luck that he gives out first?” Therion asked in disbelief. “That’s the only option we have?”

Cyrus didn’t have time to answer as the veil cracked and shattered, showering them in translucent green fragments. Reflexively, they all braced for the inevitable impact of the magic, and Primrose followed suit despite the gnawing pain in her abdomen.

It wasn’t the blunt, sharp impact she was expecting. Instead, it trailed up her legs, over her wound, across her chest--

She couldn’t breathe.

Panic seized her and she clawed at her throat, fingers slipping through the mist that coiled around it. The pressure on her abdomen relieved itself. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alfyn furiously grappling at his own neck with one hand while the other continued to weakly press the sullied cloth on her wound.

The constriction around her neck loosened for a brief moment, allowing her reprieve to catch her breath, before it tightened once again. 

Various noises echoed around her as each one of her companions fell to their knees, crumpled in agony and gasping for breath.

Her eyes sought the man behind it all, standing in front of her, and her vision blurred as streaks of tears ran down her face. 

“That’s enough of that.”

The mist dispersed, and she took greedy gulps of air despite the rough, hacking coughs it brought with it. Her eyes regained focus, but Simeon was nothing but a blurred array of colours through her tears.

“For as you see, it is not yet time for curtain call.” His body moved in grand, exaggerated motions, and his voice bellowed as he spoke. “But look, at the tears she weeps, the blood she spills...and pity her. Oh, the tragedy! It moves me to the depths of my soul!”

A sheet of white covered her vision before it lowered to wipe the undersides of her eyes. From behind the cloth -- which, now up close, Primrose noted was ripped fabric from their camping blankets--Ophilia gave a shaky smile. Her own eyes were red-rimmed.

Once her vision cleared, Primrose was able to see the wide grin Simeon wore, but also the slight sag of his shoulders and droop of his bangs where sweat had gathered. Even the exuberant cackle he gave couldn’t hide the exhausted tones beneath.

Her attempt at calling his name was overpowered by his own words.

“Fare thee well, my poor, poor love…” With one final glance over his shoulder, he left the room with a flourish; confidence in each step.

Her vision wavered and she struggled to hold her form upright, despite the support against her back. Her mind was a fog, pulling her into a sleep.

“Damn it. Primrose, you gotta stay with me, you hear?”

“Just hold on a little longer, my dear.”

“We are getting thou outeth this place.”

“Primrose!”

The collection of voices melded into a toneless hum of noise, and she could not longer distinguish one voice from the other.

A soft brush of fur against her upper thigh was the last thing she felt before her body became numb. And the panicked faces of her allies was the last sight she saw before her vision blacked and she fainted.

**Author's Note:**

> team dynamics >>>>> everything else  
> (& thank you for reading! kudos/comments are always appreciated!)


End file.
